


Gonna Find Myself, Gonna Free my Soul

by usedusernames



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedusernames/pseuds/usedusernames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very short Crowley/Bobby fic for a friend, set shortly after Bobby pawns his soul to Crowley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gonna Find Myself, Gonna Free my Soul

It takes only a hot second before Bobby's poring over books, trying to find a way to rip his soul from Crowley's clutches.

Crowley pops in often. "What are you doing?" he asks, "You've got ten years to find a way out of a contract that hasn't been broken in _centuries_." He's wandering around the place, though, not looking at Bobby. His tone of condescension seems to be acknowledgement enough, for him. "Of course you'd insist on wasting them _here_ instead of living, for once," he picks up one of Bobby's old hats and makes an actual face of disgust at it before tossing it aside and wiping his hand on his shirt. "And you call my place Hell?"

Bobby's covering the book he was reading with his whole body even though he's slammed it shut already. "You ain't the one whose soul's gonna get passed around more than fresh meat in County," he mutters, hands stretched out wide to collect all the loose papers.

He's been here a full minute, but it's only now that Crowley seems to look at Bobby fully. He tuts. "Is that what's bothering you? I'll keep it all to myself. I'll put it right here in my pocket," he says, patting the breast of his suit. "Now quit acting like you just got caught with your first porno and put that away."

Bobby actually finds himself obliging. On his end it's just because he wants to keep everything hidden, but the way Crowley's smirking with one side of his mouth raised and eyebrows quirked makes him want to stop. No, it makes him want to throw the books right into Crowley's chest, literally bowl him over with the fact he's going to win his soul back like it's some carnival prize. 

He's going to find the ring to toss over the bottles that are rigged, that are supposed to be too large, and he's going to walk away with soul in hand while Crowley stands dumbfounded. It will only be one little soul, one drop in the entire ocean, but it will mean the world to them both. "Been centuries, but never been me you dealt with," Bobby says, voice gruff.

"You think you're special?" Crowley asks. 

Crowley's getting close now, very close, right up inside until they own the same breathing room. He'll only be closer when his hands wrap tight around Bobby's soul to make it part of his collection.

"Damn straight."

Crowley's smile hasn't faded. It's grown different now, though. It's not soft but it is almost fond. 

He runs his hand over the cover of the topmost book. He stills it only when his hand is covering Bobby's own. "So do I," he says.

There's a beat. 

Then his palm is gone.

Bobby's hand feels cold. That figures, he convinces himself, its blanket had belonged to the King of Hell after all.

"You're wasting your time with those books," Crowley tosses over his shoulder. "Everything in there's an old wives' tale."

Then he is gone just as quick as he came.

And the room's as cold as Bobby's hand.


End file.
